People have said I reserve my highest contempt for vacant minds, unsightly features, and fragile constitutions, but that is not the full truth. It is their resentment, born of envy, I do not tolerate. When they slander and attack the grace of their superiors, they will be made to learn the exact measure of their inferiority. They will find just how little the world values their bloodline.

  -Harald Erling, as dictated to Leif Olander

  ***

  Vigo raced his horse across the bridge to Maarten’s Tower. The animal was spent but Vigo didn’t care. The silence and lack of soldiers was disconcerting.

  The building was a rounded stone watchtower along the border with Daedelund. It had been constructed on an island set on a thin winding river. Vigo had no idea if it was even still in use but it was a well known landmark and easy enough to find.

  Under normal circumstances he would have stayed in the trees. He would have watched and waited. But if Estrid was inside there was nothing on the earth that would slow him.

  “Estrid!” he yelled towards the top of the tower. He leapt off the horse and approached the thick wooden door. He didn’t know if it was locked or not but it didn’t matter. The force he used to push it open nearly ripped the heavy door from its hinges.

  “Estrid!” he was buzzing with power and fury. Magic saturated his body until he felt he must be glowing, his eyes burning. He would level the tower if he had to.

  The bottom floor was empty so he sprinted up the stairs. The room he found was simply adorned; there was nothing more than a thin bed next to a table and chair. In a rage Vigo smashed the small table against the stone wall where it cracked and splintered.

  “Vigo Salverson!” The voice had come from outside the tower. “Come out, Vigo!”

  Vigo stepped to the window and looked out. A short distance away, beyond the span of the river out in the open grass between the treelines, filed a company of Maedish soldiers. Vigo exhaled smoothly then he descended the stairs and stepped out onto the short stretch of grass before the bridge.

  A man, presumably the soldier who had hailed him, trotted forward a few steps on his chestnut horse. Next to him rode another man not in the Maedish military uniform. Vigo could only guess he was a wizard, otherwise why have a non-soldier riding with the company. The two men stopped before the bridge. “Good morning, Vigo. I am Captain Bernhard. You are under arrest and must return in my custody to Maedelund.” He held a hand out behind him in the direction of a steel cage mounted on a wagon.

  “Should you intend not to comply-”

  “Where is Estrid?” Vigo cut him off.

  Bernhard exhaled hard. “-our orders are to kill you. I do not know where the woman is. My prince only told me he would be luring you here and that he would have her elsewhere. I am quite comfortable telling you, since you’ll likely soon be dead or in my custody, that I would assume Prince Magnus has her at the palace.”

  Vigo looked out over the troops before him. There were perhaps a few more than fifty soldiers. Off to the right of the troops stood another group of perhaps another fifty. These looked like men at first glance but at a moment's longer consideration, they seemed off somehow, different. They had a shallow, gray, ashen quality to them. They were dressed poorly and just as shoddily armed. Some had swords or spears but others had nothing more than wooden clubs or stout sticks. Wyrm.

  They would be strong, but slow and dim-witted. Bernhard would send them first.

  “Mister Salverson, do-”

  “I have no intention of getting into your cage.”

  “So you choose death then? Your gods will not save you from an army of men.”

  Vigo broke out in laughter. It was a genuinely happy sound rather than mocking or derisive.

  “My gods, Bernhard? I have but one god and after much silence, he has blessed me. For my god is war. And he has delivered you to me, to test my virtue.”

  Vigo unbuttoned his cloak and let it fall to the ground. The raging storm of magic he held within him kept him warm against the cold. His eyes welled with joy at the knowledge, the certainty, that he would fight and be victorious. He unsheathed both his swords and stepped onto the bridge. “You will learn the depth of my virtue this day.”

  ***

  Leif parried Magnus’s attack. It was easy. Slow. It didn’t matter what Magnus said or did. Leif had become the superior wizard. He offered a silent ‘thank you’ to Vigo and Godfrey.

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  Magnus pranced back. “See the swords Leif?” He waved a hand at the row of blades on the wall behind the throne, “These are the swords of dead mages. You’ll recall the Guild was built just through the Pass of Hurlin, yes? Well perhaps I’ll add your sword to my collection.”

  He attacked again. Leif parried then stepped within Magnus’ guard. He slammed his elbow into Magnus’s chin then kicked him in the chest. Magnus fell backwards onto the floor in shock.

  The prince pushed himself up and chuckled as he massaged his jaw. “I’m going to feel that tomorrow. You’ve improved, Leif. My congratulations but I won’t be taking it easy on you anymore.”

  This time Leif attacked. He lunged towards Magnus, the point of his blade aimed towards the prince’s right side. When Magnus swept his blade across to parry Leif dipped his sword point then stabbed forward into Magnus’ flesh.

  He drew his blade back away from the large and deep gash in Magnus’ left side. Leif saw Karalee reel back, eyes clenched, before she turned back and called out to him, “you can win, Leif!”. Isabella wore a permanent sneer and looked to be trying to kill him with her eyes. She rewrapped the fine fabric strip around Karalee’s head, covering her mouth and jerking the knot tightly.

  Magnus grasped it in pain as he stepped back defensively. “A lucky hit.”

  “You’re too slow, Magnus.”

  Magnus released his bloody side and leapt towards Leif. He attacked in a fury. Leif parried and responded to each strike, cutting and slashing Magnus’s body across the arms, shoulders, and chest. Blood poured out of the prince.

  “Magnus! Stop messing around and kill him!” Isabella’s voice was like a screech and a moan coiled together. A steward stumbled into the room, shocked at the death strewn about the throne room floor before him. Isabella screamed at him, “where have you been you fool?! Go get the rest of the soldiers!”

  Magnus disengaged and a beam of light exploded from his hand towards Leif. Leif smiled inwardly. He sidestepped the beam, grasped Magnus’ arm, then stabbed his blade through the prince’s gut. The beam went wide then cut off abruptly. Magnus dropped his sword and fell to his knees, grasping the handle of Leif’s sword protruding from his stomach. Fear and panic were smeared across his face. He coughed and grunted and stared at the blood soaking into his fine wool tunic.

  “Magnus!” Isabella screamed. Leif walked past him as Magnus tried to turn himself to grasp Leif’s leg in vain.

  Isabella drew a jeweled knife from somewhere and as Leif passed the vined column to grasp Karalee, she pressed the blade against Karalee’s throat. “Stop!”

  Leif stopped. He could hear Magnus’s grunts behind him but Isabella kept his attention. “Do not move or she dies. Not a twitch!” Her voice grated on him as he weighed what to do. Karalee trembled and swallowed hard against the knife edge.

  Before he could make a move, he felt a tugging on his tunic. The tugging became a static pull and Leif jerked around to see what grasped him. One of the stone vines from the column was hooked around his collar. He reached to remove it and another vine curled up around his bicep like a vice. It wound around his arm, the sharp stone thorns tearing his flesh. He reached with his other arm but another stone vine sprouted off and locked itself around his wrist. He jerked and pulled but the vines wound tighter. More vines uncurled from the column and encircled his waist and legs and neck. Leif felt himself being pulled tightly against the stone.

  He’d lost all ability to move. Isabella fixed him with an angry sneer. She withdrew her knife from Karalee’s neck and clicked it back into its sheath. The fingers of her other hand were curled into a claw, slowly tightening into a fist. Leif glared at her, “Witch.”

  She looked at her son Magnus, sputtering, on his knees, Leif’s sword protruding from his gut, as she stepped before Leif.

  Leif’s mind raced. He closed his eyes in an attempt to focus. His magic swirled within him and he tried peeling the vines back with his will. He’d let it go too long before pushing back. The constricting stone vines made pushing back against her power nearly impossible. The vine around his neck squeezed at his airway painfully.

  “You’ve failed, nephew. And now you will die. As will your family.” She tilted her head towards Karalee, “and hers.” She held up her fingers and a small orb of searing hot liquid light appeared above them. “There are so few of us with magical abilities. With you and Vigo dead, there are none who can oppose me.”

  She let the light disappear and the vines curled tighter. Frantically, Leif looked for an escape. The panic racing through him muddled his mind until his eyes settled on his sword sticking out of Magnus. Leif reached out for it with his will. He grasped it tightly, then with every drop of his power he could summon, and the last of his breath, he pulled.

  The blade was ripped from Magnus’ body and the prince let out a bloody scream as he keeled over.

  As Isabella turned, Leif’s sword spun through the air towards her. It slashed into her, burying itself halfway through her neck. She coughed and choked. She dropped to her knees and gripped the blade with her hands. She gagged and tried to force a breath as blood streamed from her neck.

  The constriction on his limbs abated. Leif forced the stone vines open in a surge of his magic. He stepped behind Isabella and gripped the hilt of his sword. He looked up at Karalee, who had a look of horror on her face, “Don’t watch.” But she did not look away as he grabbed Isabella’s hair. Her eyes did close when Leif wrenched his blade through the rest of her neck, severing her head from her body.

  Leif let Isabella’s head drop as he moved towards Karalee. He unbound her from the chair and embraced her tightly. Her wrists and ankles still wore thick steel manacles but she pressed herself against him, her face buried in his chest. Her body trembled in his arms. “Let’s go, Leif. Let’s get out of here.”

  He focused intently on the manacles at her wrists, when he heard the clatter and urgent voices of more soldiers coming from the hallway towards them. “Hurry!”

  He needed to get to Vigo, Hestan, and Estrid. He didn’t have time to waste and he wasn’t going to gamble with the little he had.

  Leif pointed his sword at the steward who had returned and was quivering, pressing himself against the stone wall in an attempt to make himself invisible. His eyes were locked in horror at the head of Isabella on the ground. “Where is the key?” Leif tilted his head towards Karalee’s manacles. The steward squirmed as he shook his head and threw his hands up. His eyes kept darting to Isabella’s death stare.

  The soldiers crashed through the doorway. The seven of them weren’t as many as he’d expected. Their swords were drawn but each of them froze in shock at the scene before them; the bodies on the floor, including those of their prince and queen.

  Leif gave them just a moment to take it in before he snapped their attention to him. He stood with his own sword still out and bloody at his side, the body of their hateful and headless queen at his feet.

  “Maedelund has a new king, by right and by blood. I am Leif Olander, of the House of Olander.” With a thread of magic he peeled the circlet crown from Isabella’s head and pulled it through the air until he reached out and gripped it with his left hand. The steward squirmed, the soldier’s mouths hung open and they stepped back, the fear visible on their faces. “Go down to the dungeons and release my father, Eric Olander. Bring him here. I will return shortly, and he will be installed as regent for the present. Do it now or join them,” he nodded to the bodies on the floor.

  Three of the soldiers peeled off and swiftly marched back out the door. “The rest of you,” he turned back to the steward, “and you. Get this cleaned up.”

  Leif turned and looked into Karalee’s eyes for a moment. They were locked on to his. Her mouth was open and her breath was heavy.

  Leif looked down at himself for the briefest moment. Blood was splattered across his body. His fine clothes were tattered. He still held his bloody sword in a death grip. He felt like a demon. An angel of death. His magic still surged through him waiting to be used. His power was intoxicating.

  He took a deep breath, then with a mischievous smile, Leif looked back at Karalee, “Apologies, my lady.” He picked her up and threw her over his shoulder, then raced out of the throne room.